


One Day

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Characters - New interpretation, Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Unusual relationship(s), Plot - Joy, Poetry, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Good use of humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After retiring to Rivendell, Bilbo Baggins is working hard on his book. Elrond, Aragorn, Arwen and Elladan play supporting roles.</p><p>
  <i>Mithril Awards 2004 - Winner - Best Poetry (comic or light)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

_To Altariel on completion of her thesis._

After retiring to Rivendell, Bilbo Baggins is working hard on his book.

******

The Fair Folk don’t suffer from surfeit themselves  
And a very hard head is the Gift of the Elves,  
So even when mortals feel near to death,  
They still go on singing to Elbereth.  
A gift that I envy, it can’t be denied,  
As I wake, somewhat late, and a bit blurry eyed,  
To find that someone has made my day  
And brought me in a breakfast tray.  
Now, as I chew my egg and bacon  
And feel my mind begin to waken,  
I know the time has surely come  
When I will finish Chapter One.

In Rivendell the morning light  
Shines on the peaks – a sheer delight.  
In all the world there’s no sight so fine  
As silver birch and mountain pine,  
So I reckon that a morning walk  
Will persuade my stubborn muse to talk.  
The garden gleams with special grace  
Imladris is truly a blesséd place.  
I pause at a bench, for I don’t feel whole  
Till I’ve filled up with weed and smoked my first bowl;  
And then I notice, behind one of the bowers,  
Elrond strolling, admiring his flowers.  
He politely asks me “How’s it all going?”  
And I mutter a bit about “Growing …and growing”  
Though really the problem is something quite other:  
Too few words - far too much paper to cover.  
  
It is a discourtesy, far worse than most,  
To ignore the words of a generous host,  
Yet I dearly hope that it won’t take long  
As the kindly elf-lord rambles on.  
He suggests some more sources, both old and new,  
Other highways and byways I might like to pursue.  
Some sound quite useful, but, ah here’s the rub,  
I must visit the library to look them all up.  
Good manners mean that I ought to explore  
Every road pointed out by the Master of Lore,  
But I might as well bid the morning farewell  
In that “crowning glory of Rivendell”.  
Elrond himself has used it so long  
He has ceased to notice all logic is gone;  
Lacking the memory of the Elves  
I can never find anything on the shelves.  
Still I do my best with a prayer and a hunch  
Til my stomach tells me it’s time for lunch.

A Homely House luncheon’s a jolly affair  
With the best food and drink and plenty to spare.  
Time passes quickly with laughing and joking  
And as always, in my case, a fair bit of smoking.  
It’s true what they say, I should feel no surprise,  
In convivial company, time simply flies,  
But I still can’t believe that it’s going on four  
When I’m seated in front of my papers once more.  
Perhaps t’would be better, as hope almost flees,  
To start on revising the Appendices?

The Dunadan said, just the other night,  
Grim words dropped like stones from double my height,  
“Bilbo, old friend, you’ll just have to learn”  
(At times that Man can be terribly stern)  
“The pen can be mightier than the sword  
And persistence reaps its own reward.  
So gird your loins, and do not shirk -  
Just knuckle down and do the work.”

But Arwen tried a different tack  
To woo my wandering muses back.  
“Would it help,” she asked with a gentle frown,  
“If I wove the cloth for a special gown?  
A jaunty red with border of blue  
And matching hood and tassel too?”  
I had to admit, were I taller and thinner,  
It would cut quite a dash at a formal dinner.  
She seemed a bit sad, and was silent a while  
Til she spoke up again with a radiant smile,  
“At least if I start and get the yarn spun  
That’s a sign of hope that the end will come.”

I sigh and return to the present once more  
And look at the piles of notes on the floor.  
I wonder, if I rearranged them a bit  
The various parts might at last start to fit?  
“T’would be easy” I muse, as I stoop and bend,  
“If I could just search out where it goes in the end.”

It’s then that I glimpse just a glimmer of light  
Something’s definitely there, be it ever so slight.  
Is it something to do with “back”and “again”?  
I must pin it down and make it remain.  
With rising excitement I shuffle the pack  
Swapping side to side, then front to back,  
From left to right, from lower to upper -  
I’m so engrossed I forget about supper.  
I rush to the Hall with stomach a flutter  
And hurry on back with some plain bread and butter.  
I sit at my desk with a sudden thrill  
And, with heart in my mouth, I pick up my quill -

“Ah Bilbo, what fun! I’m so glad that you’re here;  
Fancy, still writing on an evening this clear!”  
How could I have missed the footsteps of Doom  
As Elladan pokes his head in my room?  
“There’s just so much scribing a scholar can take  
And you’ll work all the better for having a break.  
I was hoping you’d spare me your valuable time  
To drink a few drafts of this excellent wine?”  
With a sigh of despair I lay down my pen,  
As the light in my head is extinguished again,  
But almost at once I don’t feel so bad  
For the bottle he bears is the best to be had.  
Still a hobbit my age should try a bit harder  
To resist skipping off to sing praises to Varda.

Later, much later I lie in my bed  
And a curious fancy enters my head.  
If only fate would at last take a hand  
And set me down in the Undying Land,  
Where, even with breaks to dance and sing,  
There’d be plenty of time to finish the thing.  
Or perhaps ‘tis better to sort my affairs  
And pass it on to my unfortunate heirs?  
As my bed rocks me gently, and I drift slowly away  
I’m sure I’ll find answers with the clear light of day.  



End file.
